Mooncalves and Muckheaps
by tartan-slippers
Summary: An embarrassing incident for James in Care of Magical Creatures class. A one-shot inspired by the story I shared in the Teacher's Lounge Forum!


Despite six inches of snow covering the castle and grounds, gleaming ghostly-pale in the moonlight, the fourth year Gryffindors made the trek down to the Forbidden Forest for their Care of Magical Creatures lesson. There was an electric feeling in the air that combined with the crunch of the snow underfoot to have the class giggling and chattering excitedly.

Three boys lingered at the back of the group, snowballs flying between them. Their robes were covered in coloured marks (the small, blonde boy wearing twice as many as his fellows), and each impacting snowball left another one behind it.

The tall boy, with long dark hair and grey-blue eyes, sent a particularly vicious shot towards his messy-haired, bespectacled friend, whose glasses were knocked askew. He raised a hand, adjusting them on his face once more, and grinned at his friend.

"Mate, watch the glasses. I've run out of Spellotape and I need these for Quidditch training tomorrow," he laughed.

"Alright, Mr Quidditch Hero, calm down," the dark haired boy smirked. The pair then shared a look, a devious look that promised their battle was not yet over.

A barrage of snowballs hurtled at the small, blonde boy, who let out a squeak of dismay as he was battered by the cold snow.

Professor Kettleburn awaited the Gryffindors at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The three boys hastily drew their wands and muttered an incantation, the coloured marks on their robes vanishing. The group gathered around the professor, and he quickly began calling the register.

"Remus Lupin?" he asked, looking around the gathered teenagers, but not finding his target.

"Sir?" said the bespectacled boy, "He's visiting his sick mother."

A look of understanding filled the professor's eyes.

"Ah, yes. Of course. Thank you, Mr Potter."

Kettleburn continued to call the register, but the three boys at the back of the group had been thoroughly distracted.

"Poor Moony. I can't wait til we can be out there with him," the dark-haired boy whispered quietly to his friend. Potter pushed his glasses up his nose, and nodded.

"I know, Sirius. We'll get there. It's difficult magic, but we'll get it eventually."

"Of course we will. We're hot shit at Transfiguration."

The blonde boy leaned towards them, desperate to join in the quiet conversation.

"What did you say? James? Sirius? I can't hear."

Kettleburn halted in the roll call, and glared at the three boys.

"Potter, Black and Pettigrew. Do I have to split the three of you up before we even begin?"

The boys shook their heads sullenly, and remained silent until the Professor was finished.

"Now," Kettleburn began, "We are here on a full moon for a reason, class. Can anyone enlighten us, please?"

"To find Remus and finish the register?" Sirius joked under his breath to James.

A pretty red-headed girl raised her hand. Kettleburn gestured for her speak.

"A full moon is the only night on which a Mooncalf will emerge from its burrow, sir."

"Well done, Miss Evans. Five points to Gryffindor."

James' eyes lingered on the girl as her face coloured delicately with pleasure.

"Usually the Mooncalf prefers to live in crop fields, but we have a small population here at Hogwarts in a large clearing not far into the Forest. Why would we want to keep Mooncalves here at the school?"

Again, Evans' hand shot into the air. Sirius rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, but James' gaze was on the red-headed girl who so eagerly answered the professor's questions.

"Because, sir, Mooncalf dung is an excellent fertiliser that makes magical plants grow fast and strong. We use the dung in Herbology class."

"And on what condition does Mooncalf dung make such excellent fertiliser, Miss Evans?"

Evans' forehead creased for a moment, but then her green eyes lit up.

"If it is harvested before the sun rises after the night of the full moon."

"Excellent," Kettleburn beamed, "And tonight, class, we are harvesting Mooncalf dung."

"You have got to be joking," moaned Sirius.

"Collect your gloves, shovels and wheelbarrows before we go, please; two to a barrow, two to a barrow," Kettleburn announced as the students began selecting partners and collecting their equipment. Sirius and James trod reluctantly towards a green painted wheelbarrow that squeaked indignantly when Sirius gave it a quick test run.

"Now, you must remain very quiet - the Mooncalf is a very shy animal, and some observation prior to our dung collecting will be very valuable."

Their equipment collected, the class followed Kettleburn through the snow a short distance into the Forest, where a large clearing opened out between the twisted trees. Shafts of moonlight lit the ground that, thanks to the protection of the trees, was only lightly dusted with snow. In the clearing, dancing in strange, geometeric patterns, were about a dozen pale grey creatures with spindly legs and huge, bulbous eyes.

"The dance that the Mooncalves participate in under the full moon is believed to be associated with their mating ritual," Kettleburn said quietly to the gathered students.

Pettigrew, who had obviously struggled to hear the professor, shuffled forward, hissing "Sorry, what?" towards Kettleburn. Kettleburn looked up sharply at the blonde boy, who, chastened, stumbled mid-step and promptly tripped over a tree stump. The 'ooph' that escaped him as he thudded to the ground was sufficiently loud so as to startle the dancing Mooncalves, and the strange creatures fled the clearing back into their burrows.

"Pettigrew!" Kettleburn raged, "Ten points from Gryffindor!"

Pettigrew's eyes grew watery, and his lower lip wobbled noticeably. Sirius gave him an encouraging kick to the leg.

"Get up, you fat lump - and don't start crying for God's sake."

Deprived of their chance to watch the Mooncalves dancing, the class was set to work collecting the dung.

"I'm quite glad Peter put a halt to all that - can you imagine if those things had started shagging? Pretty grim," Sirius said to James as they began shovelling dung into their wheelbarrow. James snorted.

"Mate, I didn't need that image," he said with a laugh.

"One for the wank bank, eh?" Sirius winked.

James lifted his dung-encrusted shovel, and swiped at his friend with it. Sirius dived out of the way before lifting his own shovel and taking up a duelling stance. Both boys put on mock-serious faces and raised their shovels.

"En garde," said James, before striking out with his shovel.

"Oh, for goodness sake," came a voice behind him. He turned to see Evans standing beside another wheelbarrow, a brunette girl emptying her shovel into it. James flashed her a grin and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it up even more.

"Don't fear, Evans! I, James Potter, shovel-fencer extraordinaire, will protect you from the machinations of the evil Count Black!" he exclaimed, darting to her side before raising his shovel threateningly towards Sirius. Sirius immediately began twirling an imaginary moustache and cackling to himself.

"We've got work to do, Potter - kindly go away and let us get on with it," Evans said primly.

"Or at least he could be helpful and go and empty our barrow for us, eh, Lily?" the brunette said with a sly smile.

Lily turned on her friend with a dark look.

"We can do it ourselves, Mary. We have absolutely no need for any help from Potter."

James' eyes narrowed briefly. Then his face lit up in a huge smile.

"Alright, Evans, deal," he said, grabbing the handles of their equally decrepit wheelbarrow and beginning to trundle it away from the girls, "Gryffindors are chivalrous, after all!"

"Deal? What deal?" Lily looked surprised, and then very, very wary.

James shouted back to her as he walked briskly away.

"I'll pick you up in the Entrance Hall on Saturday morning at 10!"

He heard Lily's groan of frustration from behind him.

"Potter, I am NOT going out with you!"

The dung was to be dumped on a large cart that waited at one end of the clearing. James couldn't see the Thestrals that were harnessed to it, ready to draw the full cart up the the Greenhouses, but he could see the harness floating in midair. There was a wooden ramp attached to the back of the cart, but the ramp was dusted with snow, and looked somewhat dubious. James hesitated a moment - it might be more sensible to levitate the wheelbarrow up onto the cart than risk the ramp.

But what's life without a little risk? Gryffindors are brave, after all.

The best way would be to take the ramp at speed, he decided. His grip tightened on the handles, and he leaned forward, pushing the load quicker and quicker, approaching the ramp like the barrier at Platform 9 ¾. The front wheel hit the ramp, and James pushed hard. One step, two. Then he felt his feet lose purchase on the wet, snowy ramp. Desperately, he tried to give another push, but succeeded only in losing his footing, slipping and falling off the side of the ramp. He fell headfirst to the ground, pushing the handles of the barrow at such an angle that the entire wheelbarrow tipped over the side of the ramp too, dumping its burden of Mooncalf manure directly over James Potter's head.

He sat up, pushing the wheelbarrow off and away from him, blinking dazedly. He reached a hand to his carefully messed up hair, now flat and soaked in cold, wet slime, with odd and disturbing lumps in it. He could feel it oozing down the neck of his uniform, and behind his ears. His robes were sodden and smeared, and his glasses were unmentionable. He could feel the seat of his trousers dampening, too, from the quickly melting snow.

He saw a pair of smart, polished girls' shoes step up in front of him. He looked up to meet Lily's green gaze.

She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to.

James felt his stomach drop as her green eyes glared at him. She wrinkled her nose in the way she often did around him - but this time it was likely that he did, in fact, smell as bad as she claimed he did.

But then, just as she went to turn away, he caught a glimpse of her lips quirking ever so slightly upwards. It was just a flash, and likely to be at his expense rather than anything else, but it was enough to set James to grinning like a madman as he sat in the pile of dung.

Sirius scrambled over to his muck-covered friend as the girl walked away. He was trying very, very hard not to laugh, his jaw tight and eyes wide. He offered a hand out to the muck-smeared boy. James reached out to take it, and suddenly Sirius snatched it back.

"On second thoughts, no offense, but you reek, mate."

James scowled at his dark haired friend, who couldn't keep his laughter inside any longer. Sirius clutched at his stomach, doubling over in what appeared to be almost painful guffaws.

Peter, who had abandoned his partner the moment he'd noticed the commotion, peered over the ramp at James.

"Um, James, you've got some, um…" the blonde boy gestured to the space in front of his eyes where a pair on glasses might sit. James shot him a dark look.

Kettleburn approached, obviously attracted to the noise. He glared at Sirius, who quickly pulled himself together, and then turned his attention to the manure-covered James, still in a pile beside the ramp.

"I have absolutely had enough of you lot for one evening."

But even Kettleburn giving him a week of detention, most likely shovelling some different variety of creature's dung, couldn't get the image of that ghost of a smile out of James Potter's muck-encrusted head.


End file.
